


The Stupidest Lannister

by Clementine19



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine19/pseuds/Clementine19
Summary: Brienne threw off her housecoat in a huff, not watching as it unfurled midair and landed in the corner in a pile. Her small clothes were already almost on as she reached for her greaves—she was dressed in two minutes.Two minutes flat, and Jaime was predictable, one-handed, and transparent as a sheet.





	The Stupidest Lannister

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, we reject canon in this house. 
> 
> Hoping to multichapter this as Jaime figures out how to survive Brienne, the cold, Sansa, his own decision-making skills, being a Lannister in the North, letting Cersei die tf alone, and generally Doing Better. Probably through a series of apologies, gifts, noble acts, et al. 
> 
> Mostly stands as a love letter to *the big woman* and how hilariously outmatched Jaime is (martially, maritally, you name it) and him definitely chanting "please peg me, Brienne" somewhere in Westeros right now.
> 
> Edit: (Limited HTML Hell. I swear I know when to italicize.)

Brienne threw off her housecoat in a huff, not watching as it unfurled midair and landed in the corner in a pile. Her small clothes were already almost on as she reached for her greaves—she was dressed in two minutes.

Two minutes flat, and Jaime was predictable, one-handed, and transparent as a sheet.

Her horse shuffles antisly as she saddles it, disgruntled at the predawn burden. Brienne’s heels find the horse’s ribs quickly and the walls of Winterfell became a receding blur. 

Brienne scoffs out loud, noticing a recent collection of hoof prints stretching ahead of her. She digs in, full-out galloping, and it isn’t long before she sees a flop of steely blonde rising and falling as his horse gentles into something less than a gallop. 

Brienne sticks out one arm, driving her horse close to his. His hand had gone to draw his blade at the sound of the approach, but seeing her, he replaces it, trying to swerve out of her way. He fails miserably, her fist catching under his ribs and cleanly dismounting him. Allowing him a moment of repose in the snow, Brienne dismounts neatly and gathered her reins in one hand, securing them to a nearby branch. Jaime watched, panting and forcing his heels into the ground as if to stand up. 

Jaime’s horse is a quarter mile down the road, spooked, unsure, and still dawn-weary. 

Brienne’s foot on his chest pushes him back, snow compacting around his shoulders. He opens his mouth, unsure where to start but hoping to conjure something soon. He feels like a boy caught in the kitchens sneaking drumsticks off the less noticeable fowl before a feast.

“No,” Brienne started. “No, you’re not, and no, you don’t need to do this.” 

Jaime hadn’t geared up for holding his face stoic, asserting his symmetrical, celestial draw to his sister, for more than a moment. When he was finally upon the road, he sagged his shoulders, too tired to weep but certain he would have. He almost hadn’t noticed her coming, engrossed in trying to forget her face and look towards the destiny he’d always had. Now, he couldn’t call to mind the woman he left heaving in the courtyard moments earlier with a quite tangible, incensed Brienne towering (truly) over him in full mail. 

He exhales, fight gone out of him. He was only just Brienne’s match when he was whole, and he didn’t anticipate facing her fire one-handed would go too well. Convincing the woman he loves he doesn’t just to greedily see proof of his sister gone from this world is a remarkable act to put up, and he felt a little indignant at his apparent failure. Especially when their bed was still nearby and could be brought to warmth by sunrise if they started now. 

“Have you ever taken me at my word?” Jaime asked futilely, starting to rise and again finding Brienne’s boot too heavy. 

“Jaime,” Brienne started quietly, “She’ll be dead as surely if you hear it by raven or see it yourself.” Jaime’s hand had settled around her left ankle, almost starting to stroke the metal there, the snow compressing around his shoulders and sinking into the separations in his plate.

Jaime tips his head back and exhales. 

_Gods damn it, Brienne thinks._ He’s remarkably handsome, and she’s struggling to not think of that beautiful sharp jaw moving as he—very vocal—took pleasure with her last night. 

“I’ll help you up if you swear to me, swear on her, if you must, that—“ Brienne is red-faced now, and not a single muscle in her leg has twitched to relieve the pressure of her boot upon him. 

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Jaime mutters, “I wasn’t going for her, not in the least.” 

Brienne’s mouth is a tight line.

“I wanted peace and if it meant I spent my last night abed with the woman I loved, I could even die knowing she would be safe. Gods, the only woman I’ve ever even had a hope of lying to and you’ve got me on my back a jot outside the gates,” Jaime grumbles, struck dumb as usual by fortune and his own incompetence. 

Brienne is quiet, stone-like, and finally shifts her weight, resting a wrist on her blade’s pommel. _Perhaps arming myself was a bit much._

“You’re doing that horribly obnoxious thing where you babble, Jaime,” Brienne offers him her hand. 

_I’m going to kill him,_ she thinks gloves grasping gloves, _I’m going to fucking kill him._ It’s like a mantra after a few repetitions. I cannot believe I was right, and I am going to murder Jaime Lannister over it. Good luck finding a warm hearth now, you fool. She thought of barring her chambers upon her return, and it seemed suitable if harsh for a Southern boy unfavored in the North.

He would have tried a charming grin, usually, but thinks better of his whole personality and takes her hand to rise. His horse is just within eyesight ahead on the road, looking back at them with a posture that had melted from confusion to disdain. 

_I’m just a horse, it’s not even dawn, and my rider is dismounted already,_ the horse thinks sullenly. 

“Will you be needing a ride back?” Brienne is icy, now, already mounted up and looking down at Jaime with a shockingly similar bearing to his mount.

He turns, whistles, and grimaces as his horse thunders back to him, kicking up ice all around. 

Brienne’s pride and pragmatism has her ahead on the road back to Winterfell without waiting for him. She’d forgotten to put a log on the fire before she left, and wasn’t interested in waiting around in armor for the room to permit its removal.


End file.
